


The First Meeting

by cat_thy_yours



Category: Gintama
Genre: First Meeting, canon compliant (somewhat), not an au, not really time-travel fic, rounin Hijikata, shiroyasha Gintoki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_thy_yours/pseuds/cat_thy_yours
Summary: When Gintoki and Hijikata are forced to reminisce about a certain event in their past, they both mention meeting someone then, a nice stranger they'd never seen again.But the more they reminisce, the more they realize it might not have been a stranger after all.Or:: Gintoki and Hijikata realize they already met once, long before the Ikedaya incident where they first crossed swords.
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51
Collections: GinHijiGin Week 2020





	The First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> For the Time-Travel prompt of the GinHijiGin week. Huge credits to Writing_in_sin (a wonderful GinHiji writer here on AO3, please check her out!) for inspiring this fic.

“Ha? The Forest of Lost Spirits?” 

Gintoki flicked off a booger with his pinky and looked at Shinpachi. “What’s that? A Princess Monoke rip-off?” 

“So you haven’t heard of it either?” Shinpachi shrugged, bags of groceries in hand. “My sister told me about it this morning. There’s a mythical forest near Bushuu that once you enter, you supposedly can't ever get out of.” 

Gintoki snorted. “Your sister’s got some bad tastes if she’s still telling you scary stories at your age.” 

“She didn’t mean it for me,” Shinpachi retorted. “She was just thinking of sending Kondou-san there for a little while...” 

“How does ‘can’t ever get out’ translate to ‘a little while’ in your sister’s dictionary?” 

“W-Well,” Shinpachi tacked on nervously. “In any case, isn’t it interesting to see that we still have myths in this day and age?” 

Kagura sent him a condescending stare. “What’s so interesting about grown-ups still believing in Santa Claus and glasses still believing in love?” 

“Oi, what was that about glasses and love? If you’re going to throw insults can’t you at least throw only one at a time?” 

“Women are good at multi-tasking.” 

“You’re not multi-tasking, you’re multi-annoying!” 

As Gintoki let the sound of their bickering go from one ear to another, he wondered why the name of that forest sounded so familiar. If he hadn’t heard of it in a Ghibli movie, then where? A forest near Bushuu... 

“Ah.” 

Both Shinpachi and Kagura looked up at the sound of his voice. “What’s wrong, Gin-san?” Shinpachi asked. 

Gintoki glanced at him, then away. “Sorry, Pattsuan. I think that myth might be crap after all.” 

“Huh? Why do you say that?” 

“Well, because I...” 

* * *

“You got out of it?! Really, Toushi?” 

Toushirou let out a puff of smoke as he looked at the passerbys. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise, Kondou-san.” 

His commander sounded both dubious and excited. “Are you sure it really was the Forest of Lost Spirits?” 

“Pretty sure someone said so at the time.” Toushirou shrugged. “It was a little before I met you. I did get lost for a few days too, I think, but I got out eventually.” 

Kondou brought a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful. “I see, so the myth isn’t real...” 

Out the corner of his eye, Toushirou saw Sougo mutter a low, “If only...” but he decided he’d just ignore it. 

“Wait!” Kondou turned to him again. “If you got out that means... Toushi, did you meet someone there?” 

“Someone?” 

His commander nodded. “There’s actually more to the myth. It’s said that if you manage to meet another lost soul during your wandering, you’ll be able to get out. So that means you must have met someone at that time!” 

Toushirou frowned, then looked down. 

“Someone...?” 

* * *

“Someone or something from ten years ago, how am I supposed to remember?” 

“Come on, Gin-san,” Shinpachi whined next to him. “I have to report to my sister about whether the myth is true or not, can’t you help me out this once?” 

“Even if you say that...” Gintoki brought a hand to the back of his head, looking up at the sky. “Someone, huh? At that time, what was I...” 

* * *

Gintoki was running. Or had been, at least. Now he was mostly limping, leaning heavily on the massive tree trunks with a hand on his side. His breathing was ragged and painful, but at least he was breathing. That was always a good thing. Even with his blood leaking out of him like a happy waterfall and his vision so blurry he felt like he was drunk, as long as he kept breathing, he’d be fine. He should have lost most of his pursuers by now, and even if there were any left, he still had a sword and an arm to use it. He’d be fine. He’d make it through. He knew he would. 

He had to. 

A spike of pain made him cough a bit of blood, and soon he had to stop his feet to deal with the subsequent coughing fit. Cursed spear, it’d gotten him bad. That much blood coming out of his mouth spelt nothing good for his organs. But he couldn’t stop there, he had to join Zura’s group as fast as he could- 

Footsteps. 

* * *

That’s all he could hear lately; the sound of his own footsteps. After three days of roaming this endless forest, Toushirou was growing weary of the silence. No matter which direction he went in, only rows upon rows of trees greeted him. He'd only come here in the hope of stocking up on herbs and mushrooms, he hadn’t planned on spending more than a couple of hours in the damn thing. His food resources too were getting dangerously low– 

Toushirou stopped when he felt the lick of a metal blade against his neck. 

“What side are you on?” 

His eyes drifted to the tree on his left. A man was leaning his back against the trunk, face hidden and sword held up in threat. 

Toushirou hadn’t even sensed him. 

“No one's,” he answered, not entirely sure what the question was about but figuring it had something to do with the ongoing war. “I’m a medicine peddler.” 

“A medicine…” 

There was a long pause, then finally the tip of the blade lowered. Toushirou watched as the man's arm retreated, slowly, warily, and didn’t move from his spot until it was fully down. 

Without warning, the man's knees buckled. He slid down the trunk to collapse his weight on the ground, lips letting out a stifled groan as he held a hand over his side. 

Judging by the amount of blood staining his white clothes, it didn’t seem like a simple scratch. 

“Medicine, huh?” The man grinned, but it wasn’t exactly friendly. His hand was still gripping the hilt of his sword firmly. “Sounds too good to be true.” 

Under the shade of his silver fringe, the man's eyes were of a deep wine red. 

They glimmered in both question and threat. 

Toushirou circled the around the tree to stand in front of the man. There, he sat down and settled his bag between them. 

The man followed the movement, muscles tense. 

Opening the bag, Toushirou took out a pack of dried leaves. “Ginko,” he said. 

The man said nothing. 

Toushirou put the ginko back and fetched another item. He showed it off and said, “Ginger.” 

The man's eyes narrowed, but the grip on his sword went slack. 

Toushirou put the ginger back. For another couple of minutes, he continued to display his collection of medicinal goods, methodically introducing them one by one. He went on, until he reached the lotus roots and interrupted himself. 

The man had passed out. 

Toushirou closed his mouth, putting his hand down as he stared at the unconscious man. White clothes dyed red by the amount of blood seeping out of too many wounds. Silver hair sticky and wet with sweat, eyes scrunched in pain, lips letting out heavy pants. A hand on the side, covering the worst of it. A dying man. 

Or, more exactly, a man that by all means should be dead already. What kind of endurance was this? 

“Warriors sure are something else,” Toushirou muttered to himself. 

A pause. His eyes went to his bag, then back to the man. A frown. 

“...I guess I could help.” 

Toushirou heaved a sigh then got to work. This was the first human being he’d seen in a while, might as well keep him as a human being for a little longer. Making sure that the beast wouldn’t suddenly wake up the moment he moved, he waited for another minute, then inched closer. With extreme precaution, he caught the hand that was still gripping the bloodied sword and took the fingers off of it one by one. He wouldn’t admit the relief he felt when he finally cast the weapon away. 

To still be able to stand in that state, the man must be a monster and a half. 

Next, he unfastened the dented breastplate and tried to delicately remove the man’s white slash red kimono. After laying him down and moving his hand away, he now had a clear visual of the wound. 

He cringed. “Ugly.” 

Toushirou wasn’t a doctor, but he was still a medicine peddler of sorts. He could work something out. 

...Probably. 

“You better hope I can do this,” he muttered, both to his patient and to himself. 

Then, he took out a small knife and started cutting through the rest of the clothing. 

* * *

Gintoki woke up to the sound of the breeze. Before his eyes laid a roof of tree leaves, ruffling gently with the wind. It felt like a caress on his skin, a subtle push to bring him back to the land of the living. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimmer of black. When he looked to the side, he saw a scene he couldn’t understand. 

A man, sitting cross-legged against a tree, eyes closed. Long black hair caught into a messy ponytail, long bangs casting shadows over his sleeping face, light kimono exposing light patches of skin to the forest's whims. 

How long, Gintoki wondered, how long had it been since he’d last seen something left untouched by the ugliness of war, simply bathed in a peaceful evening’s dying ray of sun? 

So enthralled was he by the vision, his hand tried to reach for it unconsciously, only to tense and jerk away the moment the pain of his wound caught up with him. He cursed under his breath, clenching his teeth at the burn. 

“You're up.” 

He looked up. The man had his eyes open, deep blue anchored over him. 

“You’re up,” Gintoki offered in return. 

“How do you feel?” 

He took a short, shallow breath, and cast a glance over his abdomen. He'd been stripped of both his armour and clothes, red staining strips of bandages instead. 

“Like I just came back from the dead,” he answered truthfully. 

“You might as well have.” 

Gintoki looked up, then away. After a moment, he spoke. “So you patched me up?” 

The man shrugged. “I’m not a doctor but I know a few things.” 

“I don’t have any money.” 

He sent Gintoki a glance that almost looked disgusted. Whether it was from the admission itself or the speed at which he'd said it, Gintoki wasn’t sure. 

“As if I'd ask money out of a dying man,” the man said. 

“I’m not dying,” Gintoki felt obligated to correct. 

“Yet,” the man retorted insolently. “I’m impressed you even survived this long.” 

Gintoki tried to shrug, failed when it pulled on his injury, and settled for a smug look instead. “I’ve had worse.” 

The man looked irritatingly unimpressed. “You’re part of the war, aren’t you?” he asked after a time. 

As Gintoki wasn’t wearing the government's crest, it wouldn’t be difficult to deduce he was a member of the rebel army. A bounty hunter would recognize the Shiroyasha in no time either, and the price on his head was higher alive than dead. The possibility that this man was planning on selling him to the Shogun's army while he was weakened was very real. 

Not that Gintoki would let that happen. “What about it?” he asked in turn. 

Their eyes met silently for a moment, the man probably reading the warning Gintoki was sending him. 

He looked away. “I didn’t realize the front lines were so close.” 

Good enough for now, Gintoki thought. “They’re not. I ran pretty far.” 

“You ran?” 

“I was in the rear guard. We were ambushed and I tried to buy our army some time by leading the enemy away.” 

What was he blurting out to a stranger? His filter must have taken some damage along with his middle. He was usually smarter than this. 

The man hummed, unaware of Gintoki’s inner turmoil. “A suicide mission then.” 

“I never planned on dying.” 

Gintoki had said nothing more than the truth; he’d planned on coming back alive from the very beginning. Else, he wouldn’t have suggested a diversion tactic in the first place. But the medicine man didn’t seem convinced. He looked at Gintoki with a dubious frown, not quite disbelieving yet not fully trusting either. Eventually, he looked away. 

“Either you’re strong or you’re a fool, then.” 

Gintoki let out a soft snort, cringing when even that hurt, then let his eyes get lost into the vastness of the sky. 

“I’m not strong, nor a fool. I’m just desperate.” 

As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them. Voicing them aloud made his sideburn worsen, the pain crawling up his spine to close up his throat instead. Suddenly, the breeze wasn’t as soothing as before. In the fading afternoon sky, the clouds shifted to erase the last traces of the sun, covering the blue canvas with brushes over brushes of a pale, sick grey. He felt cold, and stiff. He felt numb, like he did when walking over corpses. Cold and numb to everything around him. 

Desperate. 

“Yeah.” 

Gintoki blinked. The sound of the man’s voice had brought him out of his daze, back to the present. The sky was still white and blue. 

He couldn’t believe he’d let his guard down for even a moment around someone he couldn’t trust. Even with his body a wreck and his judgment impaired, he wasn’t one to just _forget_ about a potential threat right next to him. A threat that’d bandaged him up, but a threat still. In times of war, there was no such thing as a trustworthy stranger. 

Now even warier than before, Gintoki looked up at the man by his side, gaze searching. But the moment he saw the expression on his face, the soft indigo of his eyes, Gintoki understood. 

There was no war here. No bloody battlefields, no roars of fight and abandon, no threat. 

There was only a man, sitting by a tree with the breeze caressing his face. A man with eyes looking far, far away, diving into his own share of grey landscapes. A man separate from the war; a man who still knew what it meant to be desperate. 

A kindred spirit. 

Gintoki felt his throat tighten again, but for a different reason. One he couldn’t quite understand. He gulped down the dryness of his voice and looked away. 

“So, where exactly is this?” he asked, trying to drive that strange feeling away. 

The man quirked a brow in disbelief. “You don’t know?” 

“I was a bit busy with other things at the time,” Gintoki argued, “didn’t exactly stop to ask for my way.” He paused, then, for the sake of his pride, added, “I do know we’re somewhere in Bushuu.” 

“Wrong,” the man said without remorse, somehow managing to get on Gintoki’s nerves with a single word. “This technically isn’t Bushuu anymore. We’re in the Forest of Lost Spirits.” 

Gintoki frowned. “What’s with that cringe-worthy name?” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” the man retorted, frowning in turn. “Apparently there’s this myth of not being able to get out once you get in or something...” 

“Did you get lost too many times that you came up with this ridiculous thing?” 

“Of course not,” the man barked, his frown deepening. “I just heard it from the villagers before going in.” Lower, he added, “Besides, it’s only been three days.” 

“What ‘three days’?” Gintoki asked. 

The man hesitated, then looked away. “...since I got lost.” 

“You’ve been lost for three days?” This was bad, Gintoki was having trouble holding back a laugh right now. 

The man must have dog ears because he glared at him as if he’d actually heard him laugh out loud. “At least I’m still able to move and not dying under a tree.” 

“I’m not dying,” Gintoki corrected, _again,_ a smile drawing itself on his lips. “So what were you doing for three days in an unescapable forest, Mr Medicine Peddler?” 

“What do you think?” the man asked, still somewhat grumpy. “I just wanted to restock on herbs, I never planned on spending more than a couple hours in here. I’m sick of seeing nothing but trees.” 

“You can see me too, now,” Gintoki pointed out with a grin. 

The man snorted. “A sight for sore eyes, aren’t you.” 

“Among other things,” Gintoki said, smug. He tried to shrug again, but only winced when it failed, again. 

His suffering was interrupted by a laugh. It was soft, closer to a chuckle really. Gintoki looked up to see the man smiling, leaning his weight further against the tree at his back. The wrinkle between his eyebrows was gone as he closed his eyes, shoulders relaxed. 

“It’s been a while since I talked this long to someone,” he said, tone light. “It’s kinda nice.” 

“You must have lived a lonely life,” Gintoki said without thinking, immediately hating himself for it. 

But, to his relief, the man didn’t take offence. Expression unwavering, he snorted and said, “I’m just desperate."

At the mirroring of his previous words, Gintoki found himself unable to speak again. He stayed silent, eyes staring at that mysterious man who’d found him while being lost himself. 

A strange meeting, in a strange place. 

At some point, the breeze picked up and Gintoki couldn’t hold back a shiver. The sun had dived behind its large bed of clouds, the night slowly settling in. The man seemed to notice as well, his eyes opening to take a look at the sky. Eventually, he picked up a cloth with a hand and turned to Gintoki. 

“Sleep,” he said, laying the bloodied cloth over Gintoki’s torso. “We’ll move out in the morning.” 

His kimono, Gintoki realized as he inspected the cloth. Carefully hugging it up his shoulders to stave off the cold, he glanced at the man one last time before closing his eyes. Under any other circumstance, Gintoki wouldn’t allow himself to fall asleep when he was wounded and outside of the safe tents of the camp. In times of war, there was no such thing as a trustworthy stranger. 

_But this isn’t the war,_ he reminded himself. _The is the Forest of Lost Spirits._

And, as he smiled a little at that last thought, Gintoki let himself get lost into the deep realm of the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering why Hijikata is a medicine peddler of all things, well, turns out that Hijikata Toushizou (the historical figure Hiji was inspired from) was one. Plus, that explains how he managed to make some money between two raids on dojos right? Again, thank you to Writing_in_sin for telling me all about that, the headcanon is entirely her own. As well as the use of the expression "kindred spirit," I totally borrowed that from her, yeah.


End file.
